Live
by Wholocked221
Summary: "Let's live, not just survive, these final days." In a world were death is almost certain, Foggy Nelson wants Matt Murdock to live.


**AN: This was written for a prompt at the daredevil knkmeme, a dialouge prompt: "Let's live not just survive these final days." So... warning. Character death. A little. Enjoy!**

* * *

Soon after he got sick, Foggy made Matt promise. Not just promise, he made Matt _swear_. Swear to it. "Live, Matty," Foggy said, always trying to cheer his friend up, always trying to help others. Always trying to be kind. "You gotta... You gotta promise me. Promise me you're gonna live. You're gonna help people. You're gonna be Matt Murdock. When I'm gone, you gotta..." He trailed off, swallowing, and for a moment, Matt could tell how scared his best friend really was, the ravaged world outside a death sentence, and him getting sick sealing his fate faster.

"You gotta live, Matty. When I'm gone. Let's live, not just survive, these..." Matt cut him off. He didn't want to hear the end of the sentence. "I promise," he said, his voice cracking. "I swear, Foggy," he said, but he wasn't sure how he could keep that promise without his perfect other half.

They tried. They really tried to live and die not just survive, not just go through the motions, but in that world they lived in, it wasn't easy. But they tried.

* * *

One day, which Matt and Foggy deemed a Good Day, in which it seemed like the inevitable decline of the world had plateaued and Foggy actually felt pretty good, they decided to go live. They packed their lunch rations, a ratty blanket that Foggy had managed to hold onto through the whole shitstorm of what life was now, and a bottle of whiskey that Matt had snatched into a backpack and hiked out to Hell's Kitchen.

Or what was left of it. There wasn't much.

They hiked for an hour two, passing time with idle chat and reminiscing about old times. Stories of misplaces furnitures and butchers. Of families. Of Hell's Kitchen in its prime, of Columbia. Of hilariously botched dates and better ones. What was they dwelled upon. They tried to avoid thinking of the future. Not many will have one, and Foggy kept the thought to himself, but he was probably one of them. They remembered happiness, because here, they had so little.

They stumbled over debris and unsalvageable materials that littered the streets - cars, buildings, glass, mailboxes. Everything and anything, except thankfully bodies. Foggy wanted to ask where they were going, as they'd passed up he spot they'd ventured to a few times before, but he figured that it was best to leave Matt to his surprises. They didn't have much. He'd give him this.

He'd been about to ask again, another joke slipping from his lips, when he started to recall crumbling facades and hollowed-out buildings. The roads, even, looked familiar, cracked and dirty as they were. "Matt, are we-" Foggy began to say, but Matt spoke quickly, deftly navigating a dangerous section of road, Foggy close behind.

Simply was how Matt spoke. "We're going home."

* * *

They'd laid out the thin blanket and sat down on it once they'd finally arrived. Matt started taking their 'picnic lunch' out of the backpack, handing Foggy a can of fruit and an almost stale sandwich before taking out his own. "I hope those are peaches," Matt murmured. "Couldn't tell from the label, but they smelt like it." Foggy smiled faintly, opening the can by the tab on the top. "I'm smiling at you, dork," Foggy said. "Yeah, they're peaches. Thanks, Matt."

He sighed softly again, looking around them. It was almost depressing, but... It was _home_. They had been a few stairs busted on the way up they'd had to jump, there were holes in the floor, cracks in the ceiling, and mangled equipment everywhere. He could almost see a smiling Karen ghosting across the room to offer the lawyers a cup of coffee, to fix the wifi after Foggy's complaining, to tell them she was leaving for the day. He could almost see a grinning Matt with his glasses on poking holes in Foggy's latest theory, dropping a file on his desk, tripping Foggy up with his cane. He could almost see the stream of clients coming through the door.

He sighed deeply again and held to the memories, held to the open can, clung to Matt as the sobs racked his shoulders. He clung to Matt as the tide washed in, and Matt held him back and did his best to simply breathe.

* * *

About 15 minutes later according to Foggy's old watch which was on its last legs, Foggy and Matt pulled themselves apart. The tide of emotions had receded, and for a moment, they were okay. Okay. Okay. They were okay. They were living. "I'm sorry, Matt," Foggy started to say, but Matt cut him off. "No. No, Foggy. Don't. You don't... You don't have to."

They were quiet again, eating their sandwiches and their fruit and sipping at their whiskey, sitting in the rubble of their home and warming in the glow of memory.

They left a few minutes after they finished their meager meal, but Foggy hesitated at the door, turning around for one last look of what used to be his home. Matt touched his arm, and they didn't even need to speak. "It's okay," Matt said softly.

"Yeah," Foggy said, except his voice cracked and he made himself repeat it. "Yeah," he said again. "We can't... We can't change the past. This place had some good memories but we're gonna... Gonna have to live. Make us s'more."

Matt breathed out again. "Yeah," he said, and his promise echoed in his ears, thumped in his heart, flooding through his veins. _I'll try,_ he thought. _I'll try._

"Make some more."

They left without either one taking a second look. (Foggy decided never to ask, but he knew Matt took him that day because somehow Matt knew they were never going to see their home again.)

* * *

Half of the way home, Foggy was leaning on Matt.

With a fourth of the way left, Matt was leaning back.

When they arrived at camp, they were holding each other up.

* * *

"Matt?" Foggy said softly. He was getting worse and the world was getting worse and Matt was barely holding on. He was so close to letting the devil in him go.

"Yeah, Fog?" Matt said softly. He couldn't feel an sun in his shoulders from the open window he was next to, so it was still nighttime. Foggy must have had a nightmare.

"You still there?"

"Yeah, Fog. I'm still here. Never gonna leave, Foggy, you know that. I've stayed with you this long, I'm not ditching your sorry ass now."

"Thank you, Matt," Foggy said, and Matt moved his own hand on top of the sheets from the chair he was positioned in beside the bed. As Foggy got worse, so did the nightmares. Matt never slept, choosing to stay up with him. "For... For everything."

Matt exhaled in time with Foggy for one breath. "Foggy, don't," he began, but his friend spoke over him again. "Gimme this. Do you remember the... The promise you... Last... Last year?" Matt's breathing shook for a second before he steadied it, speaking. "Of course I do." How could he forget? His best friend's dying promise.

"Keep it."

Matt was silent.

"Th... Thank you, Matt," he said quietly, his voice loud in the stillness of the quiet night. "Stop," Matt said suddenly. "Don't do it, Foggy. Stop. You don't apologize to me, you don't have anything to thank me for."

 _For being my best friend,_ Foggy thought, but when he spoke, he said, "I know, Matt. I know."

* * *

Matt swallowed when Foggy woke up for the second time that night. "Matt?" he said quietly. "Yeah, Foggy?" Matt answered, moving his thumb in gentle circles on the back of his hand. "I'm gonna die," Foggy said, his voice shaking. "Matt, I don't wanna die."

Matt's breathing hitched and he held Foggy's hand tighter. "It's gonna be okay, Foggy," he said. Foggy had been his emotional comfort for so long, and it was finally Matt's time to return the favor. But however could he repay everything Foggy had done for him? "It's going to be okay. It's gonna be okay."

Foggy spoke again, his quiet sobs so loud, too loud, in the sudden silence. "I don't wanna leave you," he said. "I don't wanna leave you." Matt bit the inside of his cheek hard. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry. But the sound of Foggy's sobbing... It was the most horrible thing he'd ever heard, and he couldn't do anything about it. "Hey," Matt said quietly. "Hey, hey, hey, Foggy... Wherever you go, I'll... I'll be there. I'll get there sometime, alright? Plus, you're... You're not gonna be alone. Karen, right? She'll be there. And your mother. Your dad. Hell, my dad. My dad would've loved you. Your sisters. You're not going to be alone, Foggy."

"What if there's n-n..."

"Foggy," Matt said patiently, still desperately holding back tears, "I don't know what it is, but there's somethin'. And you sure as hell deserve it. You're the best of us, Foggy Nelson. You always have been. The best of all of us."

Foggy took another shuddering breath, his cries mellowing out and disappearing. "I'm scared, Matt."

"I know, Foggy. I know." He paused before releasing his hold on Foggy's hand and whispered, "I am too."

"Matt?"

"Yeah, Fog?"

"I love you."

Matt paused for a beat.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Foggy spoke, loud, harsh coughs breaking through the stillness. Matt was up in seconds at his partner's side. "M-Matt?" Foggy said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. "I... I love you."

"I know, Foggy," Matt said quietly. Foggy told him that all the time, now. like he... He wasn't sure how much time he was going to have left to say it. "I love you, too."

"I'm... I'm so... So s-sorry, Matt," Foggy said, his breathing hitching again, and Matt held his hand. "You never have to apologize to me. _Never,_ okay? You don't owe me anything."

Foggy swallowed roughly, and they were both quiet as a minute stretched into two minutes which extended into 3. It was Foggy that broke the silence. "I want... I want that to b-b-be one of th'... Th' las' things I s-say... Somethin'... Somethin' good... I... I love you. I... I do."

Matt swallowed back tears around the lump in his throat. Of course Foggy would... Foggy would have that sentiment. Of course Foggy would want the last thing he said to be... To be I love you. "That's..." Matt trailed off.

He didn't know what to say.

* * *

"I'm g'nna... G'nna die, Matt."

"I-I th... Think so, Foggy."

"I... I think tonight. Yeah... Yeah, Matt, I... I think tonight."

"Maybe, Foggy. Maybe."

* * *

"Matt?"

"Yeah, Foggy?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Foggy. I love you, too."

* * *

Foggy Nelson died that morning.

It was a Sunday.

Matt didn't go to Mass that day.

It wasn't a beautiful morning. It wasn't beautiful weather. It was the middle of the morning, 2:23 by his watch. It wasn't a meaningful death in battle, saving innocent lives. Simply, Foggy Nelson was there, breathing in and out, his heart pumping, comfortable, familiar noises, the only constant in Matt's life, Matt by his side like always, and then...

Then he wasn't.

There was no soft breathing, there was no heartbeat, and suddenly, his face was wet with salty tears he could taste and Matt's world was silent.

They couldn't even have a proper funeral for him. Foggy deserved better. He deserved so much better. He deserved better than Matt. He deserved better than this world. He deserved so much better than a hole in the ground and a roughly-hewn wooden cross made by Matt which he refused to let anyone else touch. He deserved so much more than he ever could have gotten here.

Matt swore and he cursed at God and he cried.

Foggy's words echoed in his mind even now.

 _"You gotta live Matty,"_ he had said.

Matt stood over the rubble of Hell's Kitchen, and he and Daredevil were present in equal parts. They hadn't been this way for a while.

 _"When I'm gone."_

He inhaled deeply.

 _"Let's live."_

He exhaled, and the tang of old ash and memory hit his senses. He remembered Karen. He remembered Claire. He remembered Mrs. C and Battlin' Jack Murdock and he remembered their office, their home. He remembered their cases, their lives. The people of Hell's Kitchen. But he remembered Foggy most of all.

 _"Let's live, not just survive these final days."_

Matt Murdock and Daredevil howled at the sunset together.

They did their best to simply breathe.


End file.
